The Grove(23)
“Thettis. It’s an ornamental thorn-vine which sprouts tasty berries that can be distilled into a soporific for healing and pain-management medicines—an appropriate gift for the original Grove,” Saleria stated. “I cannot be completely sure, but round about this area was where the original gift from the Althinac ambassador was planted. The morning glory . . . could have come from anywhere. A stray seed eaten and then defecated onto the thettis by a local bird, perhaps. But the thettis bush was a gift, of that, I am sure.”
“A recent acquisition?” Aradin asked, and received a shake of her head, her blonde curls bouncing over her shoulders with the quick, sharp move.
“No. From at least four hundred years ago. There are records of all such plants gifted to the Empire, which were naturally brought here to the Grove, making it a showcase of foreign plants as well as native ones. A true garden of the Gods, since it is said that every earthly delight can be found in the Afterlife. The Grove was supposed to be an echo of such a place, with every ornamental or useful herb, bush, and tree gathered into one place.”
“Only now it’s gone wrong. Those who caused the Shattering have much to answer for,” Aradin murmured. He narrowed his eyes. “Did one of those vines just move a little?”
“It did.” Hefting her pruning staff, Saleria prepared herself for the assault. “Stay back. Remember, the spells on the flat end will cut us as well as our attackers, if you aren’t careful. Using a staff for walking is not the same as using a staff for fighting.”
He lifted his own in a two-handed stance, ready to wield it. “Our foremost Witch believes that everyone in our Order should be schooled in non-magical self-defense as well as magical. We are each required to learn at least four close-fighting styles and one ranged skill before being allowed to leave the training cloisters. Teral and I both learned combat with knife, short staff, and Arbran-style wrestling, involving holds and escapes as well as blows and blocks. He also learned sword and bow. I learned mace and sling.”
“Sling?” Saleria asked, distracted by that. “Isn’t that a child’s toy?”
“It’s more versatile than you’d think. I am an herbalist. I can craft potions, put them into carefully cleaned and wax-sealed eggshells, or thin-baked pottery balls, and hurl them at my enemies. If I have the time to prepare them,” he amended, tipping his head ruefully. He didn’t mention that he had several such missiles already prepared, labeled, and stored within the infinite, close space of the Dark. Instead, he lifted the staff she had loaned him. “This pole is a little bit longer than I’m used to wielding, but I think I can compensate. But as it is your Grove, you may certainly lead the way. I’ll just watch your back.”
Saleria nodded and shifted her weight to move forward, but curiosity held her back. Unable to help herself, she asked, “Why magnificent? Of all the words one could choose, about a plant like this . . . ?”
“It’s the blending of the features. I can tell three things went into its making,” he told her, “and it’s all very well done. A master Hortimancer couldn’t have done better. An insane master, to create an ambulatory monstrosity like this, but still, well done.”
“What—three?” Saleria asked, so surprised that she turned to look at him. As her booted feet scraped on the gritty flagstones, the vines moved, whipping outward in an attack meant to bind. She yelped in shock, but reacted on reflex, whipping her staff up and around. The spell cut through most of the tendrils, but some were longer than expected, rising up out of the bushes on the side of the path to try to curl around her legs.
Aradin’s staff whistled through the air, whipping the enspelled end through the impertinent vegetation. Severed bits of limbs skidded across the path, while the main plant shuddered and rustled, retracting itself. It still lurked close to their route, but didn’t try a second attack, and didn’t loom over the path.
Saleria nodded her thanks, and lifted her chin at the flowered mass. “Cunning, and for the next hour or so, it will remember and avoid a second attack. But by tomorrow, it will have forgotten and will try to attack again. Sometimes, if an animal goes astray nearby and has to be put down, I’ll drag its corpse here to dispose of the body faster than letting it rot . . . but I don’t really want to feed it.”
“I probably wouldn’t feed it, either,” Aradin agreed.
“So, we have morning glory and thettis. What’s the third plant?” she asked, touching the crystal end of her staff to the fallen, dying vines. The ones still attached twitched a little, but did not move in their direction.